Teamwork
by Le'letha
Summary: A collection of various and varied stories for Tenth Doctor and Rose, mostly to get the sound bites out of my head so I can sleep at night. Fifth: the Doctor sulks and Rose...um...takes steps.
1. Teamwork

_**Teamwork**_

_**Le'letha**_

**Summary: **A collection of various and varied stories for Tenth Doctor and Rose, mostly to get the sound bites out of my head so I can sleep at night. Temporarily named for the first story.

**Author's Note: **I'm writing this for two purposes, first to get the ficlets out of my head, and second to try different styles of story that I don't want to publish individually. For example, chapter one is dialogue-based, chapter two is fluff. Ye Gods. In the style of the TV series, no citrus at all, just good clean fun, except for brownie-related mess.

**Important Warning: **I have not yet seen either _Army of Ghosts_ or _Doomsday_, under the theory that if I DON'T KNOW about it, it HASN'T HAPPENED. Infantile, isn't it? But it works… _Please don't burst my bubble universe._ That tends to make me mad.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Doctor Who_, the Tenth Doctor, Rose, or the Tardis. If I did, I would be very happy, extremely broke, and, in all probability, under attack. By, um, other people who might want them. You know who you are. I also don't own any brownies. I'm not sure which I'm most unhappy about.

**ON WITH THE SHOW!**

_Story One: Teamwork—Rose, the Doctor, and Jackie attempt to make peanut butter brownies. Why brownies? I like brownies! Don't you? Why peanut butter? It was the first recipe I found._

_What to Blame:_ In the end of episode 1.5, _World War Three_, Jackie airs the possibility of cooking a meal so that she, Rose, and the Doctor can sit down and actually talk about this whole deal. Rose acts surprised, and when her mother asks, she says something about thinking that "he's finally met his match". I don't think either of them can cook, although I will admit that they managed to get through Christmas dinner without anything exploding (except crackers).

* * *

"And don't you _dare_ lick that spoon!"

"But…"

"That's got raw eggs in it. No, I don't care if you think you're immune to salmonella poisoning—Mum isn't, and if _you_ get to, she'll want to! _Give_ me that!"

"Is the oven supposed to be smoking?"

"Where'd the flour go?"

"You dropped it on the floor, remember? The pair of you!"

"Rose! You just said not to lick the spoon!"

"Mmph shmd—I mean, _I said _it had raw eggs in it, but on second thought, what do you think _these_ are?"

"The timer?"

"EGGS! I think… Well, all right, this one's the kitchen timer, but THIS is an egg!"

"Yes, it is. So what? Jackie, turn the oven off before it explodes!"

"You cannot make brownies without eggs!"

"Why not?"

"Um…"

"See? Exactly."

"Oh, brilliant, there's flour in the oven. If I turn this back on, you know it's going to go up in flames, right?"

"Hold on, hold on, I know why we need eggs, it's on the tip of my tongue."

"No, Rose, that's chocolate."

"Stupid fire alarm!"

"No problem! There, see, fire alarm off."

"Is there anything that thingamabob can't do?"

"Well…it doesn't make sandwiches."

"You know, that spoon didn't taste like peanut butter. Did anyone put the peanut butter in? I think we're supposed to have peanut butter. Mum, does the recipe say peanut butter?"

"I think so, but now there's butter all over it. Hold on…well, the title says peanut butter… It also says two eggs. Did the eggs get in?"

"Well, Rose has got one egg, and I've got an egg timer…"

"Close enough, pass it here."

"Mum, how much chocolate were we supposed to add? Because I think between the three of us, we've eaten it all."

"You know, I don't think it says anything about chocolate."

"Oh, good."

"Why are chocolate-less brownies good?"

"Because we're not going to have to find more to put in—I don't think there's any on board."

"Yeah, because _someone_ found my stash!"

"…which had been mostly taken out of mine…"

"That's completely beside the point."

"Here, hold this pan a second, sweetheart. Do you think that's eight inches?"

"I dunno, it's just a pan."

"Yep, that's eight inches."

"Ok, good. What does 'add vanilla and then dry' mean?"

"To start with, you could add the vanilla."

"I know _that_, where is it?"

"Hold on, I think I see something under the table. Could be vanilla. I'll get it."

"Look, Jackie, it says 'then dry ingredients', not 'then dry'."

"Oh, yuck, how'd this egg get under here?"

"Dry the ingredients?"

"No, I think it means add the dry ingredients—you know, flour, salt, and baking powder. Do you think peanut butter counts as dry?"

"Sure, why not? Oh, wait, the recipe says add the peanut butter first."

"Do you think it matters? I already added peanut butter. But there's some left in this jar if you want more—Rose, there's egg on your shirt."

"Shut up! I know! Besides, it goes with the flour in your hair."

"Fire alarm again!"

* * *

Surmise: At some point, they're going to have to just go to the store, hopefully after they clean up. Whether or not they burn down the apartment building first is entirely up to chance…

**Author's Note:** When you read this, **keepondreaming16**, do thank your sister for coming up with the one thing the sonic screwdriver can't do, and apologize to her for me for stealing her idea and running with it. You probably don't remember, but that time we all watched the first episode over at your house, you asked if there was anything the sonic screwdriver couldn't do, and as I floundered, she hazarded, "Make a sandwich?" You know what? She's right!


	2. Stop

_**Story Two: Stop:**_ _The Doctor runs in circles, and Rose is dizzy._

**Author's Note: **So today I found the Children in Need Special on disk one, season two, for the first time. I spent most of it with my hands over my mouth, caught between laughing aloud and trying not to 'awwww' over the pair of them!

**Appreciation: **Thank you to **moonbean, AbbieNormal182,** and **Elvish-Music** for reviewing Story One—which also provided me with a handful of new things to read off of their favorites lists! Thanks for that too.

**ON WITH THE SHOW**

She was getting dizzy just watching the Doctor as he wandered at high speed around the central console, reversing direction every so often, spinning in place, watching readouts and control panels and the pretty colored light patterns that the time rotor cast over everything, on top of rummaging through his pants pockets for who knows what and singing along to the music he'd flipped on by accident while trying to activate something completely different.

Rose felt like she was sitting on the edge of a whirlwind—a lively, energetic whirlwind that radiated happiness.

Actually, most flights aboard the Tardis involved running around in circles and pressing what were, to her, random buttons and levers, but he was really outdoing himself this time. Even in emergencies, he managed to keep some limits on how many things he was trying to do at once—often more so than your average not-so-average day, since he was more focused then.

She wasn't quite sure what was so important that it needed doing right now, all at once, but then she didn't understand how the Tardis worked anyway. One shot at controlling the living, psychic time ship was quite enough for her.

That reminded her—she had seen him do this before. It had been in the first few minutes after his regeneration, after she'd woken up with a splitting headache and a desperate confusion only to see the man she'd just consciously realized she was head over heels in love with vanish in a flash of energy.

To be replaced by a man she didn't recognize, didn't know, and was somewhat afraid of. A man who was trying to fly a ship notorious for not landing where it was supposed to and analyze his new body at the same time, even though he would have totally failed the sort of test that involves walking along a straight line (although he would fail that at the best of times; knowing the Doctor, he'd probably wander off halfway to investigate something more interesting. Or something would explode).

To his credit, he had stood still and focused on her just for long enough to realize that she was scared of him. She had not been up to dealing with what was, essentially, a hyperactive, _drunk _Time Lord who, for all she knew, was a complete stranger and quite possibly an imposter, on top of the images and impressions still sinking into her subconscious which had not vanished yet.

Now, though, what could have been weeks or months later—she'd long since abandoned keeping track of actual days—he was at it again, running in circles around the center console at a rate of knots, talking partly to her, partly to the Tardis, partly to himself, all at once, not, luckily, expecting an answer from any of the above.

Rose was glad that she was sitting down, because if she had been standing, she would have been turning in place trying to watch him, which she did as often as she could for reasons that were _purely_ her own business and no one else's, and she would have fallen over.

Actually, she felt as if she was going to fall over anyway.

Well, there didn't seem to be an actual disaster in progress, judging by his general tone of voice—cheerful—and the snippets of monologue she caught—scrambled. He could afford to stop for a few seconds.

Unfortunately, she wasn't sure he would hear her if she said something, and even if he did, Rose was willing to bet she'd get a cheeky smile and pretend deafness.

It would be worth it for the smile, she thought briefly, but discarded that thought.

The Doctor was taller, and stronger, and a hell of a lot _faster_ than her, so her only real advantage was going to be surprise.

So Rose waited until he'd slowed down just a little bit, and then stepped directly in front of him. He did notice her—Rose being in the way while he tried to get the Tardis to work was a perfectly acceptable form of fun—and slowed down even more to avoid her.

Rose used that opportunity to snatch his sleeve and throw him off balance, dragging him down onto the yellow bench she'd occupied until a second ago, and did again, joining him.

She got a puzzled grin for her pains, and a "What?"

Holding her free hand in the air before them, she said, "Just—stop a second, will you?"

"Stop?" Like he'd never heard the word before.

"You heard me. You're making my head spin."

His feet were still twitching, but Rose had gotten her genuine smile. "For how long?"

She sighed fondly. "You really don't stay still well, do you?"

"Nope!"

"And the instant I let go, you're going to be up and running again."

His other hand came up to cover the one with a death grip on his sleeve. "Probably."

"You know, sometimes I don't believe you're nine hundred and something. I've known sugar-high five-year-olds with less energy than you!"

The Doctor gave her one of those sideways smiles that meant she was about to be proven wrong. "Sometime we'll have to drop by that planet in the twenty-third century—I forget the name. Now, _those_ kids are pretty crazy."

"If they're worse than you, I don't think I can handle them!"

"On second thought," he added, "maybe not a good idea. There's a ship out then I don't want to run into—they have enough problems with time travel as it is. Them _and_ us in the same area might just rip the universe in half and put it back together shaped like a fish."

"Oh, and we wouldn't want that, would we?" Rose muttered sarcastically.

"Trust me, we really don't. And this is me saying that."

"Which makes it, on the scale of things and/or people we don't want to run into?"

"About a seven?"

"All right, we stay away from them. Or at least try to. Now can you please slow down just a little bit?"

"I'll try, but no promises."

When she released him, though, he held onto her hand for a few seconds longer before jumping up and including her in the melee, enlisting her help to press buttons and pull levers, but mostly to laugh.

At least she knew it wasn't her fault that they ended up 879,000,002 light years from where he'd meant to take them, not to mention several thousand regular years too early. That sort of thing happened all the time anyway.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Doctor Who_, anyone or anything within, or any extended _Star Trek_ jokes that weren't supposed to be here in the first place. I maintain that the two universes can be reconciled (and boy, will that cause chaos). 


	3. Something Greater

_**Story Three: Something Greater: **__Rose observes some ordinary people, and is frustrated._

**Disclaimer: **I'm getting absolutely nothing out of this story except having lots of fun. And oh, to have more stories out there for two people I love!

**ON WITH THE SHOW!**

The Doctor wasn't quite sure if he liked the quiet or not. It usually meant one of two things. One option meant that it was quiet because something was about to happen, which would usually completely destroy the silence for the next few hours. The other option was that Rose was asleep, and he was _not_, and he was therefore _bored_ because he had no one to talk to.

If she was asleep right now, it would be very weird (well, weirder than usual), since it was early evening wherever on Earth they'd landed (the Doctor would be the first to admit that although his history was perfect, his sense of geography tended to be a little askew), and they'd split up a few hours earlier. Not for any particular reason, it was just that she wanted to window-shop, and he didn't.

So she wasn't asleep, but that didn't stop him from being bored. Silence was nice in small quantities, but after a while, it needed to be broken by loud rock music, or something exploding.

The Time Lord sighed and scuffed his feet across the sidewalk, kicking an acorn most of the way down the street simply because it was there, and then set off to find his lady.

Because he couldn't hear anything amiss, she probably wasn't in trouble, although that hadn't meant anything in the past. He wasn't particularly worried—after all, Rose could look after herself.

_If I were Rose,_ he thought, and then continued aloud, "where would I be?"

_By now, she's probably looking for_ me.

Well, in theory, two people looking for each other had a greater chance of finding each other than one person looking for one other person. Or at least, he thought so. Probability math wasn't a particular concern of his. If it happened, it was obviously possible. Apart from that, 'try it and find out' was always a solid method of prediction. More interesting, too.

He'd been wandering through the suburban neighborhood for about ten extra minutes before a nudge at the corner of his mind told him he was getting close. "Thanks," the Doctor said aloud, knowing the Tardis could hear the sentiment repeated mentally. When the sensation faded, he added, "No further clues?" expecting none.

The time ship provided him with no further clues, but he'd already gotten enough of his bearings to head toward the medium-sized church around the corner. Why Rose would go in there, he had no idea. But even if she wasn't there, maybe there would be someone around to ask if they'd seen her.

He forgot the name for the entryway to the church proper, a hallway that people could gather in before going into the main part of the sanctuary. There was a service in progress when he came in—he could hear the steady rhythm of the ritual being transmitted through the clergyman's microphone.

Rose was leaning against one of the windows between entryway and sanctuary, watching thoughtfully. As she seemed alright, he didn't announce his presence, settling for relaxing against the wall in the corner of her eye.

A smile spread across her face, and she reached out a hand to him without taking her eyes off the service. So invited, he took the hand, letting her rest her head on his shoulder comfortably.

He didn't know how to phrase his question, so he let her bring it up instead.

"Mum and I were never religious," she said thoughtfully. "I think after Dad died…well. But I used to catch the bus back from school, and there was a little church on my way to the stop. If I had time, I used to sit in there for a little while."

He hadn't known that, so filed it away for future reference. "They love this place. Can you feel it?"

"Mmhm. I don't know…after everything I've seen, everywhere we've been, I can't understand how they can believe in the things they talk about." She waved at the gathered congregation with her free hand. "But they're happy."

"Or it helps a little, at least," the Doctor amended. "Isn't it amazing? They don't have any real proof of anything, but they still value this community enough to come here all the time."

"Like a family."

"Yeah."

Thoughtfully, they watched the gathered men and women file up to the altar before returning to their seats.

"I wish I could tell them, sometimes," Rose said abruptly.

"Tell them what?"

"That's the thing. I don't know. Whenever Mum starts calling for us to come home for a little while, I look out the window, right, or Mum and I run to the market for something ordinary. And I see all these people, and they've got no idea how much bigger the world is than they think."

He couldn't help a smirk. "Even since last Christmas?" Technically, since they were a few years before the Christmas of the Great Big Alien Spaceship Up in the Sky over London, it hadn't really been _last_ Christmas. But it was the most recent Christmas for them, and that was what counted. Looking at their travels from anyone else's perspective gave Rose, at least, a headache.

"Especially since last Christmas! It's annoying. Nothing changed."

She realized she'd misspoken a second before he laughed, and pulled away so she could swat at him remonstratively. "On _Earth! _We're not there most of the time, so that doesn't count!"

"Counts to me," the Doctor muttered. "Counted to _you_."

"You know what I mean! People still go to the store, and break washing machines, and do stupid things like, like…" She floundered for a second, struggling to find a stupid and reckless thing that the Doctor wouldn't be game to try at least once. It was hard. "…rugby, and…oh, never mind."

Pulling her attention away from the discussion, she noticed that people were standing up and beginning to sing. The clergymen and their white-robed assistants were descending from the altar. Having followed her gaze, the Doctor took her hand again and tugged on it gently, leading her towards the door. "C'mon, let's get out of the way."

Once they were out of the parking lot and walking back in the general direction of the Tardis (with plenty of daylight left to get lost a few times), he resumed, "No, I know what you mean. And I promise it does change."

"When?"

"Want to find out?"

"Yeah, but you said that about the Slitheen, too," Rose pointed out. "You were all excited about 'first contact'. I believe there was a speech about clay in there too."

"Oi! So it was all a hoax, that wasn't my fault! Anyway, if you're looking for _first_-first contact, we're going to have to go off to Egypt and places."

"Egypt."

"Yep."

"Please tell me you're winding me up again and this isn't about aliens building the pyramids and stuff. _Mickey's_ friends tried that one on me once!"

The Doctor grinned happily and decided not to tell her about the hieroglyph-covered stone that had somehow ended up with a crude etching of the Tardis on it.

* * *

**Author's Note: **God knows where I got this one from. At least, He should: I was sitting in Mass one weekend, paying attention, thank you, when I happened to notice in passing a woman who was standing at the back of the church looking like she wasn't quite sure what she was doing there. When I looked back, later, she was gone. So I'm obsessive. What's your point? Also, I think I'm getting Season Three for Christmas, which means that I'm gritting my teeth in preparation for having a stake driven through my heart. Yes, a **stake**. It might just be less painful. (See, I still haven't seen _Army of Ghosts._) I may sit down and write quite a lot in an effort to maintain my bubble 10Rose universe. Depends on how long it takes me to read all my new books. (Last year I got ten or eleven, and it took me three days.) 


	4. Luck

**Chapter Four: Luck**

**Disclaimer:** No time travelers. No time machine. No cherries, no brick, no swamp, and no clue where this story came from. And still no stake! Every day without a stake is a good day!

And now I should really go write my _Star Trek_ story…like I'm supposed to be doing right _now_…

**ON WITH THE SHOW**

"Whatcha doing?"

Many, many conversations began this way, and not just those between Rose and the Doctor. Although they have many conversations stemming from those two words as well.

"If I said that I didn't rightly know," he replied happily, if somewhat muffled, "would you be worried?"

"No." She laughed briefly. "I've always somewhat suspected you don't really know what you're doing."

"Oi! It works, doesn't it?"

"Mostly." Rose had discovered that the yellow captain's chair could, if messed with enough, turn all the way around so that she could lean over the back of it and watch her best friend meddle with the Tardis console again.

"Well, I do know what I'm doing, so there."

"Right…" She swung the chair back and forth idly as something underneath the console sparked, followed very closely by a snap of irked words. "Is that the same language as this one on the monitor?"

"Uh huh."

"And the sticky notes? That's your language, isn't it?"

"Quite right." He continued adjusting wires and settings as they spoke.

"Can I sit here and ask you random questions?"

Now the Doctor was laughing. "If I can give you random answers."

"That's fair. Let's see…why won't the Tardis translate your language?"

From the sound of his voice, he had found he needed two hands and had put something in his mouth for lack of somewhere to put it down. "Because I speak twenty-first century English perfectly well on my own. And," his voice became less muffled at this point, "so I can have something to shout in."

"Did you know this chair spins in circles?"

He'd be hard put not to. She was rotating like a seven-year-old visiting her dad's office. There's just something about computer chairs.

"I did know that. Be sure to lock it down again before we try to land anywhere."

"Now that you mention it," she said thoughtfully, slowing down, "I'm not sure how it got this loose."

"I'll take a look at it. Next random question!"

"Do we have any cherries?"

"No. We did," he added. Rose couldn't see him shrug, but she could imagine it.

"All right…what is luck?"

"Luck?" There was a pause, interspersed with beeps and whistles from the Tardis, while he considered this. "Luck is a paradox that does not necessitate the destruction of the universe."

She picked at that sentence for a few seconds. "You mean you don't know?"

"I never said that."

"No, I suppose not. How do you spell necessitate?"

"Nah, what you really want to know is how do you _stop_ spelling necessitate?"

He had a point. "Ok, how do you stop spelling necessitate then?"

"R-E-Q-U-I-R-E. Easier to spell, not so much fun to say. Is there a sort of square-shaped thing with scribbles all over it up on the console?"

"I thought I was asking the random questions," Rose pointed out as she managed to wobble away from the chair, rather dizzily.

"That wasn't a random question. It's a very timely and appropriate question."

"Suppose so. Scribbles in sort of spirals?"

"That's the one."

"What is it?" she asked, clambering underneath the console to hand it to him.

"It's a brick," he told her with perfect solemnity. It was beyond her how he could look her straight in the eye and say things like that without so much as a smile.

"A brick."

"Yep."

"Why does it have writing on it? Your handwriting, I'll bet."

"Got bored." As if the answer should be obvious.

That was actually a relatively sane answer, as answers went, so she let that pass without comment. "Did you ever find that last bouncy ball?"

"Nope. And it's kind of the last, and the second to last, and the third to last…at what point does it stop becoming nth-to-last and start becoming a problem?"

"I dunno…as soon as one hits me, I suppose." She glanced around the console room nervously. It was truly remarkable how far one rubber bouncy ball could go, if thrown with enough enthusiasm. No prizes for guessing the origin of that bright idea.

Rose pulled the chair back around and sprawled out full length on the seat, watching her friend. "Were you kidding about Miss Marple really existing?"

"Marple was a joke. Can take you to meet Sherlock Holmes if you like, though. Smart man. Watson's loads nicer, though," he added as an afterthought.

"Seriously?"

"Oh yeah. Only man who could ever properly deal with Holmes. Everyone else just got ignored or run over."

Rose made a mental note to raid the Doctor's library for Sherlock Holmes stories. Odds were pretty good that he'd have a copy. Finding a specific book, however, was a lot harder than it should be. She still hadn't figured out his filing system, and if the Tardis was as prone to rearranging books as she was to shuffling rooms, it was a wonder the library hadn't gotten tied into a big, complex knot.

"So, Sherlock Holmes is real, huh?" At some point, she'd started to fall out of the habit of using the past tense. When you could land in almost anybody's backyard just whenever you pleased, people being dead for a hundred-odd years was no more than a mild inconvenience.

"Yep!"

"Anyone else I should know about?"

"One second—" Something whirred to life far above her head, and Rose looked up reflexively, knowing even as she did that she probably wouldn't see anything. She didn't, but when she looked down again, she could see the Doctor clambering out of the space under the floor.

"Better," he said happily, even though she had no idea what he was talking about. "Now, lemme think..." He raked dark hair out of his eyes as he thought, making it even messier than it had been. "Oh, I know!"

"Who?"

"A large part of the history of, let's see, the twenty-third and twenty-fourth centuries got transmitted to the late nineteen-sixties. Never found out how that happened…" He paused. "…which raises the rather scary notion that it may have been my fault. Will be my fault."

Rose scrambled through her memory, trying to match the dates. "This is someone I know?"

"Someone you've mentioned to me before. Thought I knew the name, was a bit preoccupied at the time. Anyway, it got broadcast as a science fiction show for forty years or so—"

Rose caught up. "Omigod, Doctor, are you telling me _Star Trek_ is real? No, no, now I know you're joking?"

"No, really, promise! Irritating time loop, that, worst case of déjà vu I've ever heard of."

She grinned, ready to call his bluff. "So, could we drop in on them? Prove to me that they're really real?"

"Well, for one thing, I'm not going near Kirk's _Enterprise_. Man caused more damage to the space-time continuum than any human should be able to. One-man catastrophe trail, him; it'd be like trying to walk through a swamp."

"Nah, I'm not letting you slip out of this one. Are there some _Star Trek_ people we can visit?"

"Maybe. I'll have to check. Is that the end of the random questions then?"

"No, it's not! How'd you know about the red bicycle?"

"Not telling."

"That's not fair!"

"That's a secret."

"Oh, I know: Mum told you."

"Why would your mum tell _me_ anything like that?"

"Good point. Ok, _why_ are all the cherries gone?"

"Well, they were good cherries!"

"Why were you writing on a brick?"

"Didn't have a sheet of paper."

"Why did you have a brick?"

"I don't remember."

"If I spin around on this chair any longer, will it fall over?"

"Probably not."

"Good enough for me," she said happily, kicking off. "WHEEEEE!"

After that there was nothing to do but laugh about it, especially when it did start wobbling and she ended up frozen in place, gripping the back of the chair for dear life.

"It's not funny!" she told him, although the adrenaline was beginning to translate into laughter for her too.

"All right, all right, I'm not laughing," he surrendered, although she knew he was. "Get off the chair for a second and I'll show you how to fix it."

It was worth being insanely dizzy, and almost falling off, to see him laugh. It was one of the many, many things she loved about this version of him. "Last question," she said suddenly. "How can light eyes be so dark, and dark eyes be so bright?"

Her impromptu riddle took him by surprise, and he approached it as a riddle until he realized what she was really asking.

"A paradox," he replied gravely, dark eyes shining with laughter. "Like luck."


	5. Blue

**Chapter Five:**** Blue**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the series, the characters, or a 'What-the-heck-are-TPTB-doing' backspace button. Piffle. Could use one of those.

**Author's Note:** Inspired by being up too late, my mom's day off, and my brother asking 'We have orange juice?' when it had been in the fridge for a week. (I got Season Three for my birthday, by the way, meaning that I had to finally cave and agree to watch the Season Two finale episodes. Heartbreak… In an unrelated aside, throwing soap at the shower walls in a temper tantrum is both satisfying and not messy.)

**ON WITH THE SHOW!**

Rose was halfway through breakfast when she realized that the Doctor hadn't made an appearance yet. And this was odd. Not that he was a morning person—as they didn't technically _have_ mornings on board the Tardis and Rose's internal clock had been knocked askew ages ago—but he usually at least dug himself out of whatever he'd been doing to keep himself amused to wish her good morning and cadge at least half of her breakfast. 

But today she hadn't seen him. She had swung by the console room to look for him (and ask if he was planning on stealing half her bacon so that she could make enough for them both) when she'd first gotten up, but there weren't even random spare parts lying scattered on the floor. She had found a sweater of hers that she'd forgotten she'd left there and forgotten about, along with one odd shoe. (So she left her things all over the place. So what? If he minded, he'd have either been sarcastic and rude about it, or collected everything up and dumped it at her bedroom door.)

She was wearing the sweater, but she'd left the shoe, since it would be daft to walk around inside with one shoe. Not as daft as it would be to walk around outside with one shoe, but…oh well.

Where was he, anyway? Come to think of it, he hadn't come by to talk to her last 'night' either, and it wasn't at all unusual for him to sit at her bedside watching her, half dozing himself, while she slept. Rose was vaguely aware that this would creep most sane people out, but she loved knowing he was there with her, and on a more practical note, it stopped him from finding new and imaginative ways to stave off boredom, such as letting sixty-seven rubber bouncy balls loose, or drawing on the ceiling. Or breaking things just so he could fix them, which she'd never actually caught him at but suspected him of.

Almost concerned now, Rose dumped her plate in the sink (they both believed in the deal-with-it-later school of dishwashing, so nobody would mind) and set off to check most of their usual haunts, snagging that stray shoe along the way and chucking it back into her room in passing (deal-with-it-later again).

She knew he wasn't in the console room, and that he hadn't ended up there while she was eating, because she couldn't hear the inevitable crashes, bangs, and cracks that usually culminated in a shout of 'I really think I know what I did wrong this time!' She snooped around the various libraries and dens for a while, and spent a few minutes looking for the swimming pool before remembering that he'd sealed it off weeks ago, saying that he was going to get around to fixing it sometime this century. Apparently it leaked. The general wardrobe (singular in the sense that all the rooms and chambers and things were connected, but extensive in the sense that there were rooms and chambers and things) was always fun to explore, and she made a note to ask him if he'd ever actually worn some of this stuff once she found him.

Of course, if he was somewhere in the deep depths of the Tardis, looking for something obscure or just off on a wander, she'd never be able to find him.

Rose poked her head back into the kitchen just in case, but nothing had changed apart from her breakfast dishes having vanished, courtesy of the Tardis. Heading back up a flight of spiral stairs, she considered risking the nearby rooms that Jack had labeled (literally—there were still signs on the doors) the Closets of Diabolical Crap, but, again, she couldn't hear any crashing. And those rooms were insane. One of them had eaten Mickey once. Not permanently, of course. He and the Doctor hadn't spoken to each other for a while after that, although in the Doctor's case it was more a matter of not being able to stop laughing for long enough to speak.

She was medium-sure he wasn't asleep. He didn't need to sleep as often as she did, and mostly waited until Rose was getting ready for bed to invite her to sleep in his room. Jackie would scream her head off and probably try to slap him again if she found out, but they sure weren't going to tell her (reckless, not stupid). And anyway, it wasn't like they were _sleeping_-sleeping together. It was just a nice, comfortable, between-close-friends sort of thing.

As a general rule (right up there with don't-wander-off, but more followed), any door that wasn't locked was OK to enter. Rose didn't really expect the Doctor's bedroom door to be locked, as he hadn't done that in ages, but she tested the doorknob tentatively anyway. It clicked open at her touch and she peered in.

"Doctor?" she hazarded, squinting through the half-light he'd left the room in. "You awake?"

"Yes. But I'm not getting up," he replied, muffled. It sounded vaguely like he either had a pillow over his head or was underneath several layers of blankets.

Now, that was odd. "Why not?"

"'m sulking."

O_kay_. Rose rolled her eyes and inquired, "About what?"

"Dunno. Just generally sulking. 'Bout pretty much anything."

Because that made _sense_, right. Considering he'd been his hyper-cheerful self just last night.

"Why?"

She heard him heave a sigh and was pretty sure she could see the bedcovers move if she tried. "Just _because_. I don't want to get up." Long fingers emerged from the tangle of sheets and gestured—excessively, she though as the lights dimmed further, because the Tardis regulated the lights pretty much telepathically. 

Rose took the hint and closed the door.

"Guess everyone needs a day off," she said to herself, shrugging. "It's not like he can stay still for very long anyway. He'll get bored."

She killed the 'day'—between waking up and getting tired again—with nothing tasks, like calling her Mum for their longest chat in ages, painting her nails, and trying out the interesting set of dials, switches, and knobs in one of the random bathrooms, which was fun and made a big mess (often synonymous). By the time she got around to eating what might be called dinner (mostly scavenged out of the fridge, for although she was the only one in her mixed-up family who could cook, it was no fun without the Doctor getting underfoot) she was starting to get worried.

"I could have sworn he couldn't stay in one place for five minutes and then he goes and does something like this," she muttered, half to herself, half to the Tardis (who was always listening anyway). "Is he sick or something? How long is he planning to keep this up?"

'Tomorrow' came around and there was still no sign of the Doctor. Rose was starting to suspect (vaguely) that this was one of his odd little object lessons. 'See what I have to put up with every time you have to go off and sleep all the time? See? See how boring it is?'

He'd proven weirder points before, mostly because he was talking too fast for her to keep track of the argument, but this was just…well, weird.

* * *

The Doctor was, in fact, sulking. Not about anything in particular. Just because. He'd dozed off hours after Rose had gone to bed and woken up without a good reason to get out of bed. Nothing was broken, they weren't crashing, and no one was screaming. And Rose was still asleep, so he wouldn't have anyone to talk to even if he did get up. So he'd stayed in bed for a few more hours, and since doing nothing depressed him, he'd ended up depressed, which didn't help with the whole finding something to do bit. Vicious circle. Ta.

Somewhere along that circle he'd tossed Rose out of his room. Oops. He'd apologize in a way that didn't involve an actual apology _per se_ once he'd gotten out of bed. Eventually, when he could be bothered.

From beneath his comfortable pile of blankets, he heard the door click open again. How long had it been? He hadn't been keeping track. Not long enough to think of a non-apologetic way to apologize, by any count. Not that he'd been, you know, thinking about it.

"Doctor…" Rose again. Of course. No one else on board since Mickey had left to be Ricky (see, he'd been right all along, of course, so there).

"Are you getting up yet?"

"No," he replied, somewhat grumpily. Nice, deep blue funk…

He could hear the resignation in her "Okay," but let it lie. He would get up, really he would. Just not right now. He heard the door latch again.

Wait a second…

_SPLOOSH!_

Yelping in surprise and indignation, the Doctor sat up in bed, dripping wet. "What the—" He stopped to spit water out of his mouth. _"Rose!"_ he yowled pitifully, suddenly aware that he looked—and quite possibly sounded as well as smelled—like a drowned cat. 

Rose had her hands set on her hips stubbornly, empty bucket still clenched in one. It would have been quite cute if it weren't for the fact that the empty bucket had been full, and was now empty only because he was soaking wet. "I know what you're like when you're left to sulk," she scolded him. "One day, maybe. Everyone get one bad day. Two days, no way."

Spluttering, he was still trying to put two and two together, adding _Rose_ and _dripping wet_ and coming up with _Rose dumped a bucket of water over me!_ It just didn't connect. "I—you—I mean—what?"

It didn't help that she had a point. He turned really depressive when left on his own. It was part of the reason he invited people to travel with him in the first place.

The bucket-less hand came up off her hip to point at him sternly. He focused on the threatening finger so intently that he went briefly cross-eyed. 

"Up," she ordered. "I'm not letting you just sulk around in here."

"You dumped water on me!" he finally came out with.

"Yes, I did," she replied calmly. Or as calmly as you can be when you're rousting someone out of bed with the help of a bucket of water.

A confession? What was he supposed to do with that? If she'd argued, denied it, he could have cunningly argued her around with obvious proof and evidence and logic and clever witty repartee, assuming he ever got his brain connected to his mouth again. As it was, all he could say was, "But…"

"Up," she repeated, smirking. That wasn't fair. The smirk was cuter than the stubbornness.

"Up?" Reduced to monosyllables. And sounding like an echo. And, oh yeah, sopping wet, too. Oh, this was shaping up just great.

"There, you see? Not that hard," she said, mock-congratulatory.

It was a stupid, stupid question, but he wasn't letting her have this one without a fight. "Or what?" he asked, despite the fact that his comfortable nest of blankets was completely soaked. Brain still not connected to mouth, see. Should really do something about that some time soon. Really soon.

"Or…you could sit there and drip," Rose pointed out, just as he ran a hand through his dripping hair reflexively, which only served to make his shirt even wetter. He considered wringing it out, but realized that this would involve either taking it off in front of his overly smug lady, or ending up with wet pants into the bargain, neither an appealing prospect. The former had some appeal, true, but not in the current situation.

She'd followed his train of thought. "In wet clothes and cold blankets. Well, I suppose you could move to somewhere dry. It's a big bed." She was reading his mind. How did she do that? "In that case, I'd dump this _second_ bucket of _really cold_ water all over you."

"You're kidding."

"Nope," she smirked. "Got it right here." He followed her nod to see that yes, there was another bucket at her feet. He couldn't attest to the temperature, of course, and wasn't about to find out (reckless not stupid again).

"And if you're still sulking, assuming you can find somewhere dry, I'll just have to go away…and come back with buckets of orange juice."

He gave her a stare he usually reserved for people with really stupid ideas, explosives, and fingers on the big red button. "I think I'm up. Wait, we have that much orange juice? I want orange juice. Not, you know," he hastily amended, "all over me."

Having achieved her objective, Rose could afford to be nice (and gloat a bit). "Well, I was just thinking about breakfast, so orange juice could be arranged. I can make pancakes—without burning anything—too, by the time you're out of the shower.

Shower sounded good. It meant more water, but at least it would be warm, and he could put on some dry clothes.

"We still have that syrup we picked up, too," he said happily, blue funk completely dispelled by the thought of food and dry clothes. "Good stuff, syrup. It doesn't go in buckets well. Now, that would be a mess…"

Rose winced as his voice was cut off by the bathroom door closing. Yes, it would be. _Please, let him never get a chance to try that. We don't have that much syrup anyway…I hope_.


End file.
